


my hands, they don't feel like mine

by soleilouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:03:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleilouis/pseuds/soleilouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis bites his nails. there are four things that don't make breaking the habit any easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my hands, they don't feel like mine

**Author's Note:**

> louis just has short, bitten nails a lot, and this became a thing that wouldn't leave my awful brain, thanks to [chelsea](http://carryonsunshine.tumblr.com) and _her_ awful brain. this is for her. a thank you to my sweet [ainslie](http://queenmcgonagall.tumblr.com) for being encouraging and looking over this for me. :)  
>  all mistakes are mine/this isn't real/etc.
> 
> title from jolene by ray lamontagne.  
> tumblr: soleilous

The sunlight dances across Harry’s face, warming his cheeks and bringing him out of a deep sleep. He stretches, keeping his eyes closed, and turns onto his back. His eyes open slowly, now turned up towards the ceiling, avoiding the blinding light coming through his window.

He’s been meaning to get new blinds. Eventually he’ll have enough time to do that. Or he’ll remember to buy them, at least. It seems to be at the bottom of his list of Important Things to do. His life is too hectic, maybe. Just a bit.

He turns his head to look down at the other side of the bed, already knowing that it’s empty. Harry thinks that he’s aware, maybe too aware, of where Louis is at all times. He feels him, like a loud presence, even when he isn’t making a sound. Harry furrows his brow, turning his head in the opposite direction to look at the alarm clock on his bed-side table. It seems to be mocking him, glowing bright red numbers telling Harry that it is entirely too early to be awake on one of their very few days off from interviews and appearances.

“Lou?” Harry croaks, his voice thick with sleep. Maybe Louis is just in their en suite bathroom. He always takes a piss as soon as he wakes up, like clockwork.

Silence.

Harry sighs, throwing his feet off the side of the bed and sitting up. His bare feet hit the hardwood floor, and he winces at the sudden feeling of coldness. He runs a hand through his hair slowly, pushing it away from his forehead, causing it to stand up in all directions. He stands, leaning back and cracking his back once, twice, three times before padding slowly out of their bedroom.

“Babe?” he whispers, looking into the living room.

He hears Louis clear his throat, and Harry turns to follow the noise.

Louis is perched on one of the bar stools, leaning on his elbows onto the separating counter in between their kitchen and living room area.

He raises his eyebrows at Harry and yawns, wide and unabashedly. Harry smiles softly, eyes trailing down to see the phone settled in between Louis’ arms, the screen lit up and a voice coming through muffled and low.

He shuffles quietly to move behind Louis, wrapping his long arms around the smaller boy’s middle and resting his hands flat against his stomach.

Louis is wearing a sweater, probably one of Harry’s, if the way it swallows him is any indication. It’s one of Harry’s favorite sights, he thinks, the hem of the sweater resting mid-thigh and the sleeves engulfing Louis’ small hands in its thick material. He isn’t wearing anything but pants underneath, and the golden skin peeks out from where the bottom of the sweater is bunched and resting on the tops of Louis’ thighs.

Harry presses a kiss into Louis’s hair, giving him a small squeeze before pulling away. Louis whines quietly, missing their contact already, and whispers a quiet “Morning, love.”

He gestures towards the phone, sighing, and Harry nods in understanding.

Harry should have known, really. It isn’t like them to get a day off that involves actual relaxation and down-time. There is always someone to talk to, a meeting to go to, a plan to make, a story to plant. It comes with this life. He doesn’t mind, usually.

Louis minds. Louis takes the brunt of the responsibility when it comes to their team, making sure that none of the younger boys have to spend hours on the phone with old, grey-haired men in business suits, going over the same game-plans until it all sounds like blood rushing in his ears.

Harry moves over to the kettle that Louis has apparently put on the stove and forgotten about, and starts tending to it. He floats between the stove and the fridge, the only sounds in the kitchen being his feet shuffling on the linoleum, the slight whistling of the kettle, and the gruff voice of the man on the other end of the line.  

He hears Zayn’s name a few times, maybe a few mentions or Harry or Louis, and _definitely_ mentions of HarryandLouis, and he looks back at Louis over his shoulder from his place in front of the stove.

Louis has brought one of his hands to his mouth, his fingers gently pressed against his lips. When his eyes are closed like this, Harry can see almost every single eyelash separately, and it’s a beautiful thing, really. Louis’ finger goes into his mouth, just like Harry knew it would, and he starts to gnaw on his fingernails, alternating between his thumb and pointer finger.

His brow is furrowed now, listening carefully to the man ask for _more, more, more_ and Harry knows that Louis wants to say, maybe scream, that he honestly has nothing left to give.

He purses his lips, finishing Louis’ mug of tea, putting in just the right amount of milk and sugar, the way he knows Louis likes it. He adds a little more sugar than usual, because, well, when Louis is stressed or tense, a little sugar always helps him to perk up.

Harry walks to face Louis at the counter, and places the mug in front of him. Louis smiles in thanks, tilting his chin up and puckering his lips. Harry giggles quietly, leaning forward to place a few light kisses on Louis’ dry lips.

Harry thinks that Louis probably hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet. Not that he minds, really.

He pulls back and looks down at him, frowning when Louis’ hand immediately goes back into his mouth, his canine teeth biting at the already short nails.

Harry reaches up and pulls the hand from Louis’ mouth, bringing it down to place it on his mug. Louis huffs (Harry isn’t sure if it’s at him or the man on the phone), and begins to respond to whatever question he was just asked. Harry half listens while he moves around the counter to take a seat next to Louis at the bar.

Louis hums in agreement down at his phone once before hitting the mute button and turning to Harry, who is now settled next to him with his own mug of tea. With a bit less sugar than Louis’.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he pouts, leaning in once again to pepper Harry’s face with light kisses. Harry closes his eyes and breathes out a laugh, placing a hand on Louis’ bare thigh.

“‘m alright. You didn’t wake me. Think I woke up ‘cause I could feel that you were gone.”

Louis rolls his eyes and groans, but he’s smiling and blushing now, and that’s all that matters, probably.

“What is it this time?” Harry asks after taking a sip of tea.

“Same old--, hold on,” he holds up a hand, using the other hand to unmute the phone, “Yes, Jack, I hear you and totally agree, yadda yadda. Go on,” he says, his voice coming out rough compared to the soft tone he had been using with Harry. He mutes the phone again, shaking his head before turning his attention back to their conversation.

“Same old, same old. You know,” he waves his hands in the air.

And yeah. Harry does know.

Harry nods in response, humming against the mug on his lips.

“Love you,” he smiles, taking another sip before putting the mug down.

“You too,” Louis says quietly, smiling at Harry before bringing his hand to his mouth again, this time biting nervously at the side of his thumb.

Harry doesn’t know if he’s biting at the nail or the skin at this point. It might as well be the skin - his nails are so short from the constant bad habit that he barely has anything to chew on anymore.

Harry leans forward, kissing Louis’ cheek for a long moment, and grabs Louis’ hand from his mouth when he pulls back. He lowers it, this time bringing it into his own lap and lacing their fingers together, holding Louis’ hand there firmly. Louis huffs again, this time definitely at Harry, and fidgets in his seat. Harry chuckles and strokes the side of Louis’ hand soothingly, using his free hand to pick up his mug.

When they get up from their seats at the counter an hour later, deciding to lay in bed for the rest of the day, Harry picks up Louis’ mug and realizes that he didn’t touch his tea once.

++

It’s 12:30 am when Harry hears the front door opening slowly. He looks up from his spot in the living room, lowering the volume on the tv, and sees Louis creeping inside, slipping his shoes off quietly and placing them in the designated spot they set for shoes next to the apartment’s entrance.

“Hi,” Harry says, smiling widely at Louis.

Louis jumps a bit, clearly not expecting Harry to be up. They’ve got 2 days off in London, and Harry thought it would be good to stay in. He’s had enough of the lights and the screaming, and he could really use a couple of nights where he does nothing but sit on his ass and watches  some shitty sitcoms, if he’s honest.

“Hi babe, what’re you still doing up? Told you to go ahead to sleep,” Louis smiles, crossing through the kitchen quickly to plop down next to Harry on the couch.

He sighs and nuzzles his face into the warmth of Harry’s neck, placing a kiss there.

“Waited for you,” Harry says, leaning into Louis’ touch.

“Hi,” Louis breathes out, seeming to melt into Harry’s side. Harry throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close, and kisses him properly. Louis smiles into the kiss, whispering, “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Harry says against Louis’ lips.

He smells like flowers and sweets, and not like the usual cologne that Harry is used to. The cologne Harry bought him last Christmas to be exact.

“How was, uh,” Harry clears his throat once they’ve settled into a cuddling position and have turned their attention to the glowing light of the television, “El tonight? How were things?”

Louis body tenses where it’s pressed against Harry, and he brings his hand up to bite at his fingernails.

“‘s alright, I guess. We went to some fancy-schmancy dinner and got papped and shit, then went to her cousin’s party for a while. They were nice,” he smiles, barely, “they all asked about you.”

Harry snorts, “Me?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Well, the band, but.”

They laugh, both of them sounding exhausted, and Harry swats at Louis’ hand, knocking it from his mouth. Louis squeaks, rubbing at his hand dramatically.  “I am fragile, Styles.”

“Not what you tried to tell me last night,” He smirks, raising one eyebrow.

Louis fingers are in his mouth again, and Harry grabs at his hand, pulling it close to his face.

“Jesus, Lou,” he breathes, turning Louis’ hand over in his own. The nails are short, so short, they’re barely there. Harry might be exaggerating, but they are definitely Too Short, and the realization that Louis bit them down to practically nubs while he was out tonight makes Harry’s stomach clench.

Maybe his own fingernails are a bit shorter than they were before Louis left to go out with Eleanor for dinner, but.

“Shut up,” Louis pouts, pulling his hands into his lap and rubbing them together, “It’s a nervous habit.”

Harry knows this, because Harry knows Louis. Harry knows that Louis is like a child in some ways, needing to be told not to bite at his fingernails, needing to have his hand physically pulled from his mouth in order for him to stop.

Harry knows these things, and if he had been out to dinner with Louis tonight, he would have been able to help. Eleanor doesn’t know, how could she, she doesn’t know to gently pull Louis’ hand away or to kiss his fingertips to distract him.

Actually, if he had been out to dinner with Louis tonight, there probably wouldn’t have been any reason for Louis to bite his nails in the first place.

Harry sighs before pulling Louis into him again and bringing his hand to his lips. He kisses every fingertip, twice for good measure, then shifts a bit to get up.

Louis whines and grabs for Harry once he’s standing, looking a lot like a needy kitten. He gets like this sometimes, Harry knows, usually right after he’s gone out to prove a point or after Harry has done the same thing. Or just. Whenever he wants Harry’s attention, really.

Harry smiles fondly at him and promises to be right back. He hurries into the bedroom, rustling around in the nightstand drawer until he finds a bottle of lotion. There are two different kinds, lilac and cucumber melon. He shifts his eyes between them for a few seconds, ultimately choosing the cucumber melon. He knows that Louis will scoff and say it smells too girly, but he also knows that Louis will breathe in just a little bit deeper when it’s used. Which is totally a coincidence, of course.

He brings it to the living room, noting the look of relief that seems to wash over Louis’s face once he spots what Harry ran to get, and settles back into his corner of the couch. Louis crawls over to him, practically draping himself over Harry’s body, and brings a hand to Harry’s chest. Harry kisses his temple lightly, lifting Louis’ hand and squirting some lotion onto it. He starts to smooth it across his thin fingers, focusing on the tips like he always does. He hums along with the jingle on the commercial, smiling when Louis sings the words quietly. Louis nuzzles into Harry’s neck again, whispering “I love you” and “so sweet” against the hot skin.

It’s simple, Harry thinks, this routine, but. It’s them. It’s small touches and a silent thank you. It’s kissing every inch of Louis’ hands, reminding him that they are one of Harry’s favorite things about him, among the hundreds, and that he needs to stop gnawing at his fingers like they’re candy. It’s soft smiles and droopy eyes and snuggling into each other and wanting to be closer, needing to be closer, even though they’re touching in every way possible.

The lotion isn’t always necessary, but Harry always cares for Louis after he’s had a Night Out and vice versa. They’re used to these nights, by now, and they’ve learned how to wind down together. Just another part of this life, they say.

Eventually Louis’ breathing evens out while they’re watching a rerun of that one reality show Louis likes, and Harry places the lotion on the coffee table, pulling a blanket over them. He leans back, putting a throw pillow behind his head, and shifts slightly to fit Louis in the space between himself and the couch.

He’ll probably have a crick in his neck in the morning, but for now he has his boy breathing deeply against his neck and humming gently in his sleep, and that’s really all that matters.

++

“Are you sure that your mum will like the spaghetti? I know she doesn’t really like green peppers, and mum always puts green peppers in the sauce, so that’s the way I make it,” Louis speaks quickly, looking at Harry with wide, doe-like eyes.

Harry chuckles, “Well, she is a Styles, so I’m pretty sure she’ll eat anything. Don’t worry, babe.”

Harry pats Louis’ thigh, which is laying gently over his lap, and keeps his hand there. They’re on the couch, where they usually find themselves on Actual Days Off like this, and the window is open to let in the cool night air.

Their families are coming over tomorrow, and Louis is preparing a dinner for everyone, which Harry had been skeptical about. (“Why don’t you let me cook? I make a mean chicken marsala,” he’d said casually, getting a huff from Louis in return. “I can cook, Haz, I just choose not to. You’ll see.”)

Harry could never really say no to Louis though, so. Spaghetti it is.

Louis nods finally, biting at his fingernails as he turns his attention to the footie game on television. Harry forgets who is playing, and really could care less about football unless his boyfriend is playing, but he’s happy to sit here with Louis.

He has a book resting on top of Louis’ legs, the light coming from the kitchen illuminating the pages. Harry lets his fingers stretch over the tops of the pages to brush against Louis’ skin, drawing small circles there.

Harry sees Louis’ hand moving against his mouth from the corner of his eye, and hears the _click click click_ of Louis’ teeth against the hard nails.   

He reaches up without taking his eyes off of his book, and pulls the small hand from the boy’s mouth. Louis huffs, putting the other hand in its place, the _click click click_  of his teeth starting again instantly.

Harry smiles down at his book and repeats the action, now holding both of Louis’ hands in one of his own.

“Harry, will you let me be?” Louis pouts, letting his head fall back on the arm of the couch.

Harry laughs, squeezing his hands, “No.”

“You’re a fucking menace, really, don’t know why I put up with you,” Louis says, biting at his lip in the absence of his fingernails. He’s nervous, Harry knows, about the dinner’s outcome the next day, and maybe about the hundreds of other things that constantly swim in circles through his mind.

Louis doesn’t have an off setting, Harry has come to realize over the years. It didn’t take him years to see it, he noticed it on the first day of boot-camp during The X-Factor, but it has taken him this long to understand it.

There is On, which is his normal setting, and then there is Extra On, which is Louis in interviews and performances, and maybe after a few pints. He’s bright and loud, lighting up an entire room when he walks in.

Harry thinks that Louis is a lot like the sun, actually. He gives off a certain type of energy that is contagious, that nobody can be around without feeling the heat of. He’s bright and almost too much to look at sometimes, but. But there is a side of him that is also like the moon too. Almost serene, but still illuminating everything, making everything beautiful somehow.

Nobody gets to see the side that is like the moon, really, except for Harry. Louis doesn’t have an off setting, but his body does. His brain just doesn’t seem to get the memo.

He’ll sit in silence, while they relax or watch TV, and Harry can practically see the hamster wheel turning in Louis’ brain of the plans for the rest of the week, of what will happen in the footie game, of what he should wear to dinner tomorrow. Louis’ brow furrows, which Harry finds adorable, and he wiggles a hand away from Harry’s to bring it to his mouth again, taking his pinky nail in between his teeth and smirking at Harry.

“You’re going to just bite your fingernails off one day,” Harry sighs, pinching at the exposed skin of Louis’ thigh. He squirms, giggling against his hand and lifting his leg to knock Harry’s book from his hands.

Harry starts to protest, but is cut off by Louis moving to straddle him, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. He smirks down at him and raises his eyebrows, challenging Harry.

“Keep my mouth busy then, yeah?” He whispers against Harry’s lips, and, well.

Harry can never really say no to Louis.

++

“So I think, for us, it’s just been a lot of fun to be able to see the fans get excited about the new album, because we’re just as excited, if not more,” Harry explains, gesturing out to the audience. They scream and holler, and Harry beams.

He looks to Liam, who is smiling out at the audience as well, and he knows that they’re all buzzing off of the energy. They haven’t had a proper live interview in at least a couple of months, and they’ve missed it. It gets to be too much sometimes, but this. This is what they were all born to do, really.

“And Louis, you said the new album has a more mature sound?” The interviewer turns to Louis, smiling politely.

“Yeah, it’s--,” his eyes land on Harry, who is looking at him and smiling softly. Louis clears his throat, flickering his eyes out to the audience and then facing the interviewer again, “uh, it’s definitely more mature. We’ve really grown, like even though we’re all around 20 now, our voices have gotten deeper--”

Harry raises the microphone to his lips, “A lot deeper.” He emphasises the last word with an innocent smile at the interviewer, who nods.

He looks back to Louis, who is now shifting in his seat nervously, and Harry smirks.

The interviewer laughs, turning to Liam to ask him a question about the album, or maybe about his new tattoo, Harry doesn’t hear her.

He leans down and picks up his water bottle, bringing it to his mouth and taking a long sip. He watches Louis over the top of the bottle, hollowing his cheeks purposefully and winking.

Louis brings a hand up to bite at his fingernails quickly, his eyes on Harry’s mouth.

Harry drops the bottle, checking to make sure the camera isn’t on him before letting his tongue run over his bottom lip slowly, eyes still on Louis.

He’ll get shit for this later, he knows. Somehow he simply cannot bring himself to care.

Louis clears his throat behind his hand, giving Harry a stern look. Harry smiles innocently, moving his gaze to Niall, who is answering another question about the album.

When Harry shifts his eyes to look at Louis again, he is still biting at his nails, looking down at the floor.

Maybe sometimes Harry isn’t so helpful with Louis’ bad habit, but that’s neither here nor there.

They play these games, much to the dismay of their management team, where they see how much they can tease the other in an interview or a performance. Harry doesn’t think they’ve ever said it out loud, but he knows that they’re playing.

Harry usually loses. He doesn’t mind.

This time though, he started it, and Louis is blindsided. It’s small things, nothing over the top and obvious, but he draws attention to the things he knows Louis likes. Running his tongue over his lips every few minutes, lazily dragging his hand up and down his exposed biceps, resting a large hand on his thigh. Louis’ eyes follow his every move, and Harry gives himself a pat on the back.

Louis’ hand hasn’t left his mouth since Harry took a drink of water, although he is paying attention to the interviewer now. He fumbles through a few answers, getting an elbow in the ribs from Liam when he misses a question, too focused on Harry’s fingers tracing shapes on his thighs.

Zayn looks at Harry knowingly, rolling his eyes when he looks back at Louis and sees him gnawing away at his fingers.

The interview ends after a few more questions, and the boys say a quick goodbye to the interviewer, Harry thinks her name might be Jessica, and they walk off of the stage.

Harry can feel it, they are absolutely buzzing with adrenaline now. It’s a different sort of adrenaline than when they perform, it’s a quiet buzz. Maybe from the energy drinks they chugged when they were in the van on the way over to keep them from falling asleep, but mostly from the energy of the crowd and the entire atmosphere of a stage with bright lights.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this, and he knows the boys feel the same. They’ve spent many late nights in hotel rooms discussing it.

He’s brought out of his thoughts when he’s slammed into the wall once they’ve gotten into the private hallway near their dressing room.

Well. Not really slammed, more like shoved and he trips over his own feet and hits the wall, but.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Louis asks, poking him in the chest and glaring up at Harry.

Harry looks to the other three boys, who have walked passed them, laughing. He grins down at Louis, moving a piece of unruly hair from in front of his eyes.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, love,” he says, making Louis poke harder at him.

“You were being a fucking tease.”

“Mmm, was I?” Harry says quietly, fluttering his eyelashes and laughing.  

Louis smiles despite himself, shoving Harry’s chest once and leaning up on his tip-toes to connect their mouths.

Harry likes these kisses the most. When they’ve been in public for a while, maybe for the entire day, and they’re almost vibrating with a need to just kiss each other. Harry has needs for a lot of other things too, sure, but this. This is all he needs sometimes. The slow drag of Louis’ lips against his own, Louis’ tongue darting out to lick at Harry’s bottom lip greedily.

There isn’t anywhere Harry would rather be than in a dimly lit hallway kissing this boy, who is now gripping Harry’s hips and pushing them into a dark dressing room.

This, Harry thinks, feels a lot like coming home after a long day in a big city where he feels overwhelmed by the crowds and the bright lights.

Louis always feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the end product of my procrastination while finishing this nanny au. that'll be done very soon. thank you to all of my encouraging little cheerleaders, and anyone that listens to me whine about fic.


End file.
